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talk of the town

"Oh my God. I wonder why the men in my life never call me back as well. Thanks for turning life's heart-rending experiences into wonderful prose for us all to enjoy and cry over. Two penises? That's not crass sweetie. Your honesty is just astounding and wonderful.
I wish I was you."
- Mimi New York

"Thank you for the awwwwsome satire. If she can't take a joke, fuck her."
- Seenster

"SK is dumb. End of story. Keep on pissing on her bonfire please."
- Piu Piu

"I would like to nominate this for a Nobel Prize. This is, without a doubt, one of the funniest things ever. Especially the line about masturbating to your own words. But who doesn't do that when they write something brilliant?"
- Dave

"Genius parody... I really hope [this is] written by a girl, and that she will be my new best friend."
- Lindsayism

"Great site! Love the entertainment!"
- Rene

"I luv the site. Now, who is this Stephanie Klein person and why is she impersonating the 2 of you?"
- Scott

"I don't know why everyone thinks this sight is funny. It's painful. You are a great writer - your style is like William Faulkner meets Hillary Duff - but you are so concerned with what men think of you! I was once fat, too. I know you were fat because you, like all fat girls, were molested by your father. I managed to find my way out of obesity... I now teach Feminist Dance Therapy at UC Santa Cruz, and I can tell you that I am now skinny as a non-molested girl. I stare at your picture and think of what your shallow life must be like. I could show you a way out of that mess. Let me show you. Let me teach you."
- Sylvia Jessica Plath

healing

This morning, I awoke with the dawn. I felt the soft, warm sunlight dancing over my exquisitely sculpted cheekbones and perfectly placed freckles; I enjoyed my body embraced by the luminous sunlight. I flirted once with the idea of naming my freckles, but then I got distracted. Maybe I will one day. Being temporarily distracted is my specialty, and this morning was no exception. For a split second, I forgot about you, and basked in the rays of sun…and then reality set back in, and I realized that it was not you snoring softly beside me; it was Hobbes. Again, two weeks after our two weeks, I was crushed. I felt my world come crashing to a halt.

I packed up my powerbook and Hobbes and headed over to The Grove to try and get my mind off things. Writing would help. Coffee would help. Three pounds of Bodega Chocolate would help. I wished I could go to Magnolia with Steph, the two of us indulging in soul-soothing cupcakes the way we always used to. A tear slid down my creamy cheek.

I stopped at Coffee Bean on the way there, and as I was getting out of the CLK, my blackberry shrilled a familiar, warm ring. Avril Lavigne. An email. From Steph.

I know how you woke up this morning, pathetic and depressed and weepy. I understand how you feel sweetheart, I really do, but it's been three weeks, and it's time to move on. At this point you know what you need to do.

Get under another man. It's the only way.

Dazed, I opened the door of CB, plunging into the familiar, dark brown aroma, trying to dispel my disbelief. What had Steph just written to me? She can be so harsh, so cold. She doesn't understand. You were my world, and you discarded me like a cheap Fendi knockoff.

I stood in line, waiting to order enough coffee and coconut cake to feed all my fans (and I have a lot of fans), when fate brushed the seat of my True Religion jeans. I spun and stared. He was standing there, smiling apologetically, holding his wallet. It was fat with bills. I wanted to ask him what he did for a living, but you don't ask perfect strangers questions like that, especially at the Coffee Bean on a traumatic morning, with heartbreak on your sleeve like blood from a fresh wound. I didn't want to seem needy or desperate, so I turned around, gazed hungrily at the menu, plotting my next move. His wallet was so fat.

I ordered, then stepped to the left. He shuffled up, now standing next to me. Our heads turned to each other as if our eyes were magnets, and our gazes locked for a precious second. He was older, metallic-haired, with deep lines sketched across his face. I looked down, and he knew I was really looking sideways at him. I could sense his smile. Then I noticed his wedding ring, and laughed. "What?" His voice was scratchy and a little quavery. He was nervous. I knew he liked me. "You're married." "So?" "So you were flirting with me." He laughed. "Listen, Red, I haven't said a word to you." "I can feel it. You want me." He hesitated, fumbled with his cane a little, looked at his wallet. "How much?"

Then my mountain of cake arrived, and when I looked back, he was gone. Sighing softly, I picked up my delicious burden and struggled out the door. When I got to my car, he was leaning on it, breathing heavily from his trip across the street. Waiting, watching the door I came through. Waiting for me. He wanted me. I was on the long, twisting road to recovery; Steph would be proud of this first step. I smiled as I opened the passenger door, gingerly helped him into his seat. I was going to sleep with a married man. A man who had options, who was weighing his conscience against sweet temptation the way I had weighed my morals against his wallet, but who, at the end of the day, knew a good bargain when he saw one.

At this very moment I'm getting my cane out of the closet. Later I'll go to the bank and swap a Franklin for ones so I can pad my wallet nice and fat. Then I'm off to the coffee shop to prey on broken hearts.

You're definitely the more tragic of the two Goldsteins aren't you dear? And you obviously have honesty, bravery and courage on your side, but until those qualities pay the emotional dividends you can eventually expect, have you considered -- on your darker days -- playing Bonnie Tyler's Holding Out For A Hero at full volume whilst nobody else is home, and singing along to it at the top of your voice wearing nothing but women's panties? I find that it...I mean my sister finds that it helps her a lot.

Thank you, anabeth. Today your brave words and the administrations of your sister have given me something that therapy, tony robbins and my father could never give me: you have given me courage. There is such romance in coffee and flirting and brown smells and adultery and I had never thought to combine the two! Here is my story: I have had my eye on a man for weeks now at the local coffee shop where I buy a Vente Java Chip Frapachino thrice daily. He referes to himself as the "Biker Fox", like this, "The Biker Fox would like an iced coffee" "Can the Biker Fox use a debit card on a refill"; has he secretly been beckoning me to listen? Today I will walk up to him and subtly run my fingers through what remains of his mullet. All because of you. I am in aw.

Darling, it means so much when you date someone who limps.... perhaps he needs a hip replacement? I know a great orthopedic surgeon. Or maybe he should just carry his wallet in a different pocket? Or, maybe you could carry it for him?

I was with a woman once in bed and I decided to count her freckles. she thought it was so romantic. But after I got up to 548 freckles, I just fell asleep. She got pissed because that's not why she picked me up at the bar for, and ended up kicking me out of the house.

Hey! Speaking of coconut cake ... I just wanted to let you all know that http://www.kultic.com is a great place to shop online when it comes to items such as True Religion Jeans. Use coupon code denimblog25 for 25% off your entire order! They've got same day shipping, they're 100% authorized, 100% authentic, and have great customer service. Mmm, coconut cake;).